


Sam's Choice

by superpotterwhorelock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other, Suicide Attempt, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 17:15:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16706629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superpotterwhorelock/pseuds/superpotterwhorelock
Summary: Sam is struggling with what life has thrown at him so far, Dean tried to understand how he copes with that.





	Sam's Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The events take place somewhere in season 5 after Dean and Sam reunite and do a couple cases. I realize there are some inconsistencies (i.e. Cas not having enough mojo to heal people, the boys dying multiple times over in the series and always being brought back), but go easy on me! This is my first published attempt  
> Also, I realize Jared Padalecki has struggled with suicidal thoughts in the past. This was in no way inspired by that or trying to undermine that. I have the utmost respect for him and would not try to offend him in anyway.

Dean huffed towards Baby. He popped up his collar and shook his head.  
Damn Vampires, he thought.  
He had decided to take this gig on his own. His brother had been acting weird all week: lethargic, not talking, almost secretive. His brother had actually been acting weird for a while. The duo had just gotten back together after parting ways for a bit. Dean recognized his prior mistakes and luckily Sam had too. The stress had been weighing on them both so much that they needed some good old fashioned hunting. So what if they were in the middle of a full blown “Apocalypse Now” situation? They needed some easy cases. Vampires though, Dean would always hate those.  
It’s not so much that he thought Sammy would have gotten in the way at the vamp’s nest. It was more that he was worried about his little brother. The two had been through a lot. Dean silently hoped Sam didn’t pick up some sort of ghost sickness somewhere. That’d be the absolute last thing they needed. He had been there, done that, and had barely gotten out alive.  
Back at the hotel, Dean opened the door of whatever shitty motel they were staying at. He didn’t bother remembering the names anymore. They were all pretty much the same. Throwing the keys on the small circular end table, he greeted his brother. To which he did not get a greeting back.  
“Sam?” he called out into a dark motel room. He searched for the light switch on the wall and found it, illuminating the room. Taking off his jacket, he kept talking.  
“Damn vamps man, I swear. They creep me out.” There was no reply.  
“Hey, I’m starving. What do you say we go get some burgers?”  
There was still no response from his brother. Dean turned from the chair he was setting his jacket on, suddenly aware his brother was not in his bed. Nor was he at the desk on his laptop researching another case. Dean took note of the closed laptop on one of the bedside tables.  
“Sammy?”  
No answer.  
“Oh, come on man. What the hell.” Dean said under his breath. Dean tried to rationalize with himself, telling himself that Sam had just went out to some vegetarian, fruity cafe while Dean was gone. It was hard to not think the worst though. His brother had just found out he was Lucifer’s vessel. What that sort of mind game does to a person, Dean could only speculate. Sam has also just gotten off demon blood. Dean wasn’t completely sure how that worked, but it definitely acted like some sort of hard drug. He better not have gone back. His brother claimed that with the death of Ruby, the cravings for the crap had stopped, but after the lethargy and the secrecy? Dean wasn’t quite convinced. A withdrawal is a withdrawal.  
He was about to go out and look for Sam when he noticed the crack of light through the side of the closed bathroom door. Dean walked towards the bathroom slowly. He rapped his knuckles on the surface twice.  
“Sammy?”  
He tried the handle, but came away fruitless. It was locked. Panic began to rise in his throat, but he couldn’t explain why.  
So what? The guy wants to take a relaxing bubble bath and not be interrupted. Still, something felt off. In his mind’s eye he could see Sam in there with a vial of demon blood he had somehow obtained. He prayed it was the former.  
“Alright. Come on, Sam. Blow out the candles you have burning and answer me. Sammy time is over.” Dean bent his head slightly to allow his ear closer to the door of the room. His gaze happened upon the floor.  
“What the-?”  
As Dean bent over he knew what it was he saw, but he didn’t want to believe it. Not again. Why couldn’t they just catch a break? He put two fingers in the substance leaking out from the door frame and put it up to his nose, smelling. Yeah, that was blood alright. He had seen enough of it to know. The panic was forcing its way out of his throat now.  
“Sammy!!” Dean yelled. He stood up, stepped back and brought up his leg, kicking with full force. It shook, but the door didn’t come down. He did it again. And again. The third time, the door to the motel bathroom burst down, revealing the body of Sam, slumped on the floor, laying in a puddle of blood. A lot of it.  
Dean rushed into the room. He picked up his brother’s head and laid it in his lap.  
“Oh god, no no no. No! Sam!? Sammy!?”  
Dean lightly slapped his brothers face a couple of times while his head whipped around looking for the source of the bleeding. His eyes fell on Sam’s arm lying limp on the floor. A huge gash ran along his forearm, blood still slowly seeping out of it. Dean jumped up and grabbed all the towels available wrapping them around Sam’s arm. His other arm had the same mark. Dean divided up the towels and made makeshift bandages for both arms. Sam’s eyes opened weakly.  
“Dean…” he tried weakly.  
“Who did this!?” Dean raged on. “Tell me who did this, dammit? Some sort of blood ritual with a demon?”  
“No.” It couldn’t even classify as a whisper.  
“Sh, it’s okay. It’s okay” He applied more pressure to the towels, but they were already soaked with blood.  
“Shit!” Dean yelled in to the room. He scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket; it slipped from all the blood coating his hands and tumbled to the floor. Dean desperately reached for it while still trying to keep Sam’s head in his lap and his eyes open. The tears were flowing freely down Dean’s cheeks now. He could barely see the screen as he went to his favorites and pressed on Bobby’s name.  
The ringing felt like hours. Sam’s eyes had closed once again. Finally, that gruff voice Dean had come to love answered.  
“Dean? What the hell, it’s one in the m-”  
“Bobby!” Dean cut him off. “Bobby,” his voice cracked. “It’s Sammy. It’s . . . I don’t know what happened. There’s just so much blood.”

∼

Sam had stood looking in the mirror at his reflection mere hours earlier. A knife of his rested on the side of the sink. Taking a shaky breath, Sam stared into his own eyes. He felt far away. He couldn’t focus on anything. It was almost dreamlike-- as if he were in a trance. Yet still, Sam knew that his decision was not some sort of supernatural doing. So why did he hesitate? His brother. Should he let him know? Leave him a voicemail? Write a note? None of that seemed like enough substance to explain how sorry he would be, or why he was doing what he was doing. Plus, Dean was one of the many reasons Sam had decided to make this choice. He couldn’t face the facts of letting Dean down every single day. He knew Dean wouldn’t admit it, but it was Sam’s fault their parents had died. Both of them. His unfocused mind flew to a memory from so many years ago.  
John Winchester, after struggling with the room key for some time, stumbled in to the motel room. Sam woke up in his bed, but pretended not to. He was used to his dad coming back late and wasted. It didn’t mean he could sleep through it though. He faced the wall with his eyes open, and listened as his dad attempted to get ready for bed. Suddenly, John’s cell phone rang.  
“Shit.” John had said. “Shhh. Sh.” He was talking to his phone. As he answered, he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door, trying not to disturb his kids. Sam continued to stare at the wall, the only thing separating him from his dad now. He heard one half of the conversation that John was trying to keep quiet.  
“Hey Martin. What’s up? . . . Wait, what? . . . Yeah, sounds like a shapeshifter. . . Yeah, but I just had a few. . . Nah, they’re in bed sleeping. I didn’t think it would matter too much if I just stopped for a few drinks after burning that bitches bones . . . No, I know, but . . . No, I know, but, hey you’re not listening to me.”  
It was quiet for a while, and Sam got the sense that whoever his dad was on the phone with was not talking either. He heard muffled sounds of tell-tale crying from the bathroom.Sam stood up and creeped closer to the door. The conversation had just began again.  
“I just miss her so much, Martin. So goddamn much. And it’s so hard. Everytime I see his face. Every time I see my boy’s face, I think of her. And I think of her death. I just can’t help but wonder if she’d still be alive if we didn’t have another child . . . I know that’s horrible. I know it. . . Yeah? So what if I’m drunk. Doesn’t mean I can’t still wonder it.” Sam didn’t care to hear the rest of the conversation. He backed away from the door and scampered the couple steps to his bed, throwing the covers over himself. The little boy tears came quick, fast, and hot.  
“Stop crying, Sam.” Sam uncovered his head and noticed Dean was sitting up on his bed with his arms crossed.  
“But dad said . . .”  
“Yeah, I know. I heard the conversation too.” Sam sat up with his brother.  
“I killed mom, Dean. That’s what dad believes. She would be here if it wasn’t for me.”  
Pre-teen Dean looked at his younger brother in the eye. He shrugged.  
“Yeah, probably, but get over it. You don’t even remember her.” With that Dean laid down and faced the other direction.  
Sam shook the memory away and used the back of his flannel to wipe away a few escaped tears. Every time Dean looked at him with any sort of gaze other than love, he felt that painful stare as his brother shrugged at him all those years ago.  
It wasn’t until recently he felt a different spiteful gaze. It was the look that Dean gave him when he found out about his addiction to demon blood. The look in his eyes that day was the same as the one young Dean had given him, but it was also worse in many ways. It wasn’t just hate, or resentment. It was the look you gave a stranger on the side of the road. The context for that stare hadn’t been easy either. Sam and Dean had been fighting on and off since before and after the drug discovery. All these images swam through Sam’s head. The fighting, Dean not knowing who he was anymore, never being good enough, actually being evil enough to be wanted by Lucifer. No more. He wouldn’t be a burden anymore. The only apocalypse he would bring about would be his own.

∼

Dean got Sam up, and slapped him a couple more times. The bleeding had seemingly slowed down. Sam’s eyes fluttered underneath his lids but didn’t open. Assisting Sam walk by having his arm around Dean’s shoulders didn’t seem possible, so Dean scooped him up and carried him bridal style to the car.  
Sam was lanky, but he was tall. Dean was strong for a guy his stature, but still he struggled getting his limp brother out the door. As gently as he could, he put Sam in the backseat before getting in the front seat and speeding off, intending to find the nearest hospital. His mind reeled with all the possibilities that could’ve gotten Sam in to such a mess, but he seemed to be in denial about the most obvious one. Was Sam trying to summon a demon to help him with something? Was it a locating spell? Perhaps it was the angels again, trying to bring about his demise.  
The angels. Dean thought suddenly.  
He pulled out his phone and flipped it open while going 60 down the road. He dialed the now familiar number and waited for the answer. Finally, there it was.  
“Dammit, Cas. I need your help.”

∼

Everything was black, but everything was also moving. Sam couldn’t form a comprehensive thought to save his life. He didn’t know if he was dead or alive, but he didn’t think it mattered very much either way. He briefly remembered Dean’s face above him shouting something, but that was it until now. Now there was more shouting. A name? Cas? A call for help?  
Help.  
A nightmare.  
Sam had had so many of them. So many for four months. His brother shouting.  
Shouting for help.  
A memory? It was coming to him clearer. Every night for four months after the Hellhound had gotten Dean, Sam couldn’t sleep. What sleep he did get was plagued by nightmares of his brother in Hell. A place he had sent him too. That’s when the suicidal ideation had first originated in his mind. At first it was casual. Well, perhaps casual wasn’t the right word. Sam had already died, and he came back. That wasn’t something that was supposed to happen. It was made worse by the method in which he was brought back. His very own brother had sold his soul for Sam. Before the fateful day that Dean’s end of the deal had been fulfilled, Sam thought about it every day for a year, every time he looked at Dean.  
The day that the Hellhound had gotten Dean was the worst day of Sam’s life. He had watched his brother get ripped apart right in front of his eyes. He could do nothing to stop it; he had tried to find different solutions, but once again he had not been enough.  
Dean had been in Hell. Dean had been in Hell because of Sam. The nightmares never ended. Every time he could close his eyes he saw Dean trapped down there, shouting for help. Over and over.  
Help.  
Sam was glad that would be over. Then there was nothingness. 

∼

With a fluttering of wings, Castiel appeared in the passenger seat. The crying had not stopped for Dean.  
“Dean. You’re crying. What’s wrong.”  
The tears started a new and Dean audibly sobbed. He had seen so many horrible things happen, but he’d never seen anything like this. Or in such a position where he could be so helpless.  
“It’s Sammy.” he repeated the story he had told Bobby to Castiel; by the end of it he was crying so hard that he had to pull the car over.  
“Dean . . .” Castiel began. He paused before he continued. He watched Dean with his gentle, puppy dog eyes.  
“Dean, you’ve seen a lot of awful things happen to your brother. I know this. He’s always survived. Why are you crying so hard over this time?”  
“I don’t know, Cas. Just. Fix him, please.”  
Castiel climbed out of the Impala and walked around to the other side of the car, opening up the rear door. The night was black all around them, and silent as death as well. Cas carefully examined Sam Winchester, unwrapping the hastily tucked towels and taking in the cuts on his forearm. Up front, Dean had his arms crossed over the steering wheel, and was resting his head on them. Castiel glanced between the arms and the back of Dean’s head.  
“Is he still breathing, Cas? Do something. Please.” Dean called out from his driver’s seat.  
“Dean . . . I’m not so sure he wants to be fixed.”  
Dean rounded on the angel, vehement that he would even suggest such a thing. He turned further in his seat, trying to fully comprehend the weight of what Castiel was saying. In that moment, nothing felt real. He was facing his biggest fear. What he knew in his subconscious was finally racing to meet up with his conscious reality.  
“I don’t CARE!” Dean shouted at Cas. He quieted down. “If he’s still alive, heal him.”  
Castiel noticed the shallow, sporadic breathing in the boy’s chest beneath him. He touched his two fingers to Sam’s forehead and hoped for the best.

~

Sam woke to the sound of voices. He didn’t open his eyes just yet. He believed in a life after death, but he wasn’t sure if taking your own meant you exactly went to a decent place.  
“Yes, Bobby, that’s what Cas said.”  
Muffled speech.  
“No. I mean, no, I don’t want to believe it. He’s my brother. How could I not see something like this coming?”  
All these words-- Bobby, Cas, brother-- were too familiar to Sam. His eyes fluttered open. Above him was a yellowing ceiling with lots of water stains. He moved his hands back and forth next to his body and found the same scratchy fabric of a hotel comforter he’d thought he’d left forever. In a panic, he sat up, his arms flying up so he could inspect them. They were gone. The cuts were gone. Not even a scar. Panic began to rise in his throat. He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t go through this again. But he also knew he couldn’t keep living the life he was.  
“Sam.” A voice from beside his bed gave him a start and his head whipped around.  
“You? Cas, you did this to me?” Sam couldn’t explain why he felt the hurt he did. Why he felt such anger rising in him. His eyes blurred with tears before he even knew he wanted to cry.  
“Dean, he. . . He insisted. I saw what you did, Sam. I told him healing you might not be what you wanted. He was adamant. I’m sorry.”  
Sam slumped back on his bed. He couldn’t tell if he felt too much, or if he felt too little. He couldn’t formulate words to respond.  
“It is stupid you know.”  
Sam mustered up a side glance at Castiel, but no more.  
“Your brother? Bobby? They care very much for you.”  
Sam huffed a sarcastic laugh, but remained speechless. His head was flush with feelings of all sorts. The voices from outside the motel room door continued, and Sam was grateful that Castiel hadn’t rushed to grab Dean and Bobby as soon as he had woken up. He rested his head against the cool wall behind him and closed his eyes. 

∼

Dean sat outside on the curb. Bobby sat in his chair near the cars. They had said all the thought they could say. Dean was still numb with the events of the last five hours. It was six in the morning and they sat outside the motel in Indiana. The door to the room the brothers had been residing in opened and Dean turned as Cas came out. Cas took a deep breath as Dean held his.  
“He’s up.”  
Dean let go of his breath with immense relief. Castiel was an angel, capable of healing wounds, but by the time Dean had begged him to help Sam, it looked like more than just wounds. Back in the car, on the side of the road, when Sam had not woken up to Cas’s touch, Dean had begun to worry. Castiel had warned the older brother after trying to heal him that he may have been too late. But the breathing from Sam seemed to steady and deepen, so they took him back to the motel and hoped for the best.  
Dean got up slowly and steeled himself before going back inside. The cool dawn air helped cool him down. He had been waiting for his brother to wake up for hours, but now that the time was upon him Dean found he couldn’t go in. He couldn’t face what Sammy had done or why.  
A hand on his shoulder gently squeezed; Dean turned his head slightly to see Bobby there, urging him on.  
“Go on, son. Go see your brother.”  
Dean opened the door and walked in to Sam with his head leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. He grabbed a chair from the small table and flipped it around so he was stradling it facing Sam. With his arms folded across the chair back in front of him, he cleared his throat. Sam opened his eyes.  
“Hey.” Sam started.  
The silent seconds lapsed into a minute. Dean’s eyes were focused on his arms below him; he couldn’t bring himself to look up.  
“Dean, look, I-” Sam began, before Dean cut him off, the anger taking control of him.  
“You what, Sammy, you what? Had some final Kurt Cobain snap? Some sort of snap that you knew would take everything, everything away from me?” Awkward silence ensued again. Dean slowly realized the weight of what he had said. He felt his heart breaking for the upteenth time that night.  
“Sam, I’m sorry. I just don’t get it, man. I mean. What were you thinking?” Dean stood up, finding he was no longer too numb to sit still, and began to pace the room.  
“I don’t know.” Sam started. His voice sounded void of anything. “I guess I wasn’t.”  
“No, you weren’t.” Dean stopped to look at Sam. Sam’s eyes didn’t meet his back.  
“I’m just sick of always letting you down.”  
Dean stared at this stranger in his brother’s bed, unsure of how to respond. It was true that he often did feel let down by Sam, but what? Was he just supposed to admit that? This battle felt like it was dragging on forever, even though it hadn’t even been 24 hours since he had left his brother sitting on the same bed with the computer open as he left for the vampire case. He would’ve rather let the damn vamp live a hundred times over, capturing more innocent victims, than to walk in on Sam’s limp body like he had before.  
He kept trying to wrap his head around how Sam could just abandon him here. How selfish could his brother be? Dean had pains of his own. To deal with them he would just grab a beer, find a hot chick, and get over it. He knew Sam had always been more in touch with his feelings, but this was just disgusting.  
Acting on his thoughts of coping, Dean walked out of the hotel room, passed Bobby and Castiel, and went to the back of his prized possession, his car. He grabbed two beers from the cooler and walked back to the motel room with purpose. When he got back he tossed one to his brother on the bed and sat down in the chair, cracking his open.  
The taste of the beer was just what he needed right about then. Now if only he had the hot girl part of the equation. Sam wordlessly opened up his bottle as well, taking a sip. They sat in silence a minute longer, but the silence was not as charged as it had been at previous moments. It was comfortable. They both knew there was too much to say, but it would probably be better to say nothing at all. Dean rested on the same damn chair that had been haunting him throughout this whole time. His knees were on his elbows as he sat forward, inspecting the beer bottle in his hands. Now that things seemed less tense, Dean wasn’t so opposed to addressing the problem.  
“You don’t let me down, Sam.” he said as he took a swig of beer. “You’re my little brother, you’re not supposed to be the role model. I’m just sorry I can’t always be the role model for you.”  
Dean saw his brother open his mouth to say something, but he made to leave before he had the chance. Heaving a sigh, Dean lifted himself from the chair.  
“Well,” it came out as welp. “I’m gonna go tell Bobby you’re alright, and then maybe we can finally hit the road.” He slapped the back of the chair twice before turning and walking out.

∼

It seemed as though no more than twenty words had been spoken through the whole interaction, but Sam still felt emotionally drained from the conversation he had just had with his brother. Watching Dean’s back exit the room, he knew it wasn’t over. His brother had a tendency to leave these sort of conversations bottled up until he exploded, leaving Sam in the aftermath of destruction.  
Sam swung legs he never thought he’d walk on again to the floor and stood up. He swayed a little with vertigo. A brain he never thought he’d think in again was reeling. Hands he never thought would hold stuff anymore picked up his bag off the floor as he went to go get ready. After all, what else was there to do besides get up and keep going?

∼

It was 2 am. About a week and a half had passed since Dean had found Sam laying in a pool of his own blood. They were out on the road again, and had stopped for the night in Canton, Ohio. Suddenly, Sam sat up bolt right in his bed, gasping for air. Sweat was steadily dripping from his pores. Shaken to his core, he got up to go to the bathroom. He couldn’t remember what his nightmare had been about, but he felt the fear enough to know he had had one. He tiptoed to the bathroom and turned on the light, sitting on the edge of the tub for a while. Honestly, he thought he was just grateful for the light. He was sick of so much dark. As if the thought itself were a cue, the lights flickered. Terror shot straight through Sam’s body as he jumped up with a start.  
The lights flickered once more and Sam knew he needed to calm down. Both his hands were placed on either edge of the cheap sink. He leaned on it for support and let his head hang, his hair sweeping his cheeks. Looking up towards the mirror caused Sam to stumble backwards, hitting the wall behind him. Lucifer’s reflection stared back at Sam from beyond the looking glass.  
“Hiya Sammy. Miss me?”  
“Lucifer.” Sam spit the word out like it was poison in his mouth. A prickling sensation ran up and down Sam’s nerves, his adrenaline in overdrive. “Are you . . . Are you real?” Sam asked. It was so hard for him to tell if he was having a nightmare still or not.  
“Oh, naw. Not this time. I’m just your reflection!”  
“My reflection.” Sam said absently back.  
“I mean, yeah, after all, you are me.” Sam shook his head vigorously.  
“No. No, I’ll never be you.”  
“Awe, Sam. It’s cute you think that. You will be my vessel one day. You will say yes.”  
“I won’t.”  
“Yeah, you will.” Lucifer tilted his head to the side with a sorry-bout-it look displayed on his decaying face. “And you wanna know why? Because you were made for me! Isn’t that great? You have enough evil running through your blood to house me? The devil himself! You’re a monster and you know it! Yeah, a monster. What was that guy’s name?” Lucifer snapped his fingers from the glass as he tried to think. “Gordon? He knew you were too. He tried to hunt you, Sam, remember? He knew what you are. Plus, what else have you got going for you in this life? Parents are dead, your brother resents you. Hell, Dean doesn’t even trust you anymore.”  
“That doesn’t matter.” Sam lied through his teeth.  
“Hm.” Lucifer pressed his lips together and scrunched his eyebrows in an almost condescending fashion. “But it does, Sammy. Why else would you have tried to take your own life?”  
The reflection of the man who was not Sam waited for a response which never came. He let out a dramatic breath. “Listen. Sam. Buddy. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just. I’m like you! Well, more like you’re like me, but still! A monster. A confused, misunderstood soul who got shadowed out of daddy’s view because a precious big brother was always in the way. I need you to see that because . . . this vessel?” He gestured down at the man he had possessed. “This vessel isn’t gonna cut it forever. You think you’re not good for anything. You’re good enough for me. Say yes, Sam. It’ll stop your pain in a more productive way.”  
“Yeah, and bring about the end of the world.” Sam retorted.  
“Weeeell, yeah, details, details though. All I’m saying is, think about it.”  
Sam went to say he would never say yes to housing such evil, but the vision--vision or devil?-- had gone.  
It had taken all his energy to stand up and talk to Lucifer without recoiling in fear or lashing out in anger. When he left, Sam slid down the bathroom wall and sat for a long while. His mind reeled. Past, present, and future pains were all colliding in on his brain at one time. The only thing he knew for certain is that he couldn’t be what Lucifer wanted. It would be the ultimate let down to Dean, already the major source of his feelings of failure. How could he stop it though? Lucifer was going to keep coming to him, in dreams, and in real life, until Sam finally went mad enough to give in. Was he already mad enough? What was he supposed to do?  
With resolve, Sam exited the bathroom and left the motel room as quietly as he possibly could. He remembered seeing a corner store a couple blocks away. It wouldn’t take him too long to walk to, and the fresh air might be exactly what he needed to soothe him.  
When he got to the store he opened the door and heard the jingle of the bell. He walked passed the only clerk on duty, who was resting on the counter reading some magazine.  
This is so cliche, Sam remembered thinking as he turned down the health isle. He found what he was looking for in bottle form with names such as Nytol, and Sominex. There were so many choices, he wasn’t sure which one worked the best. He had a bottle in each hand trying to determine the right choice. He read the generic drug name on the bottle in his left hand, Diphenhydramine. He put the bottle that was in his right hand back and the shelf and grabbed three bottles of the other one and made his way to the counter. The cashier set down his magazine, seemingly annoyed that he had to be disturbed. He glanced down at the pills before him, then looked up at Sam.  
“I can’t let you buy all three of these at once.”  
Exasperated, Sam tried to think. He glanced down at the magazine the guy had been reading. Big letters across the cover read “Field and Stream”. Sam looked up from the magazine towards the guy in front of him. “Listen, I’m going on a camping trip for a while. Hunting with my dad, you know? It’ll be some time before I’m able to get back to a store and pick some more of these babies up. And just spending all night awake waiting for one of those big beauties to walk by? It’s worth it, but it kills my back. Can’t sleep the next damn night at all, and I miss out on all the good shots. I’m just trying to be prepared in case something goes wrong. I think you can relate?” Sam gambled. The cashier in front of him hesitated.  
“Yeah, but I really ain’t supposed to let you. I could get in quite some trouble.”  
“Awe, I’m not gonna tell anyone. I can tell you like the hunt too, based on your magazine there. What’s several bottles of pills between friends?” Sam was already in the process of getting out his wallet as he said these words. Laying the bills on the counter in between the two of them seemed to do the trick. The cashier checked Sam out, and with a wish goodnight, Sam walked out the door, the plastic bag swinging at his side.  
When he got back to the motel he let himself in quietly. He tiptoed passed his brother’s sleeping form.  
“Sam?” his brother stirred from his rest and leaned up in bed, wiping sleep from his eyes. “What the hell time is it?” Sam shoved the bag full of sleeping pills into his duffle bag before Dean could wake up any more to notice it.  
“Go to bed, Dean. I’m just using the bathroom.”  
Dean was more fully awake now, and he sat up on his elbows and looked Sam up and down. “You sure?” Dean asked. Sam was annoyed by the implication, even if Dean was right to suspect something.  
“Yes, Dean. I’m pretty sure.” Sam went in the bathroom and locked the door behind him. It wasn’t until just now he felt the overwhelming tiredness that had descended upon him. The secret in his duffle bag would have to wait. Several minutes later, for good measure, Sam flushed the toilet and walked back out. He collapsed onto his bed and slept just as fine as he would have with the pills. 

∼

Dean woke up the next morning and immediately checked his brother’s bed to the left of him. Sam lay in it sleeping peacefully. Dean was silently thankful for that. He heard his brother’s restlessness the past few nights, but he knew if he brought it up Sam would just get mad. Dean was also fairly sure that Sam was just entering the motel room last night before he had woken up. In fact, the shutting of the door might have been what woke him up in the first place. Sammy had told him otherwise though, which meant more secrets were passing between them.  
A couple hours later they were on the road again, having finished up the case in Ohio. Dean pulled into a diner parking lot, implying he was hungry. He tried for some simple conversation. “Man, I hope they have pie.” Dean said. Sam sat next to him staring straight ahead, his eyes looking zoned out.  
Whatever thought Dean, I’m not gonna try any harder.  
They walked into the diner. Behind the counter was a long row of mirrors. When Sam looked at his reflection in those very mirrors he stumbled backwards, his face looked like he’d seen a ghost. Well, no-- they’d seen a lot of those. Maybe his face looked like he’d seen a demon. Dean looked in the mirror at where Sam was standing, but all he saw was a panic stricken Sam.  
“Dude.” Dean whispered, grabbing Sam by the arm. “Are you okay?”  
“What? Yeah, I’m fine.” Sam straightened himself and walked to a table. He sat down and crossed his hands like everything was normal.  
“Okay,” Dean said, sliding in across from him. “You’re gonna start talking to me because we are not gonna have the same problem as last week.”  
Sam huffed out a breath that sounded like a laugh as he smiled slightly. “Oh, so now you want to talk about it? Only when it comes down to me embarrassing you in public as opposed to just in private? I’m fine, Dean.”  
“No, Sam. You’re not ‘fine’, none of this is as hunky dory as you’re making it out to be.”  
“I’m not making it out to be anything. I’m living like I’ve always lived. You’re just more careful. I’m the one who tries to talk about things while you just grab a beer and walk away.”  
“That’s not true. You’ve kept your secrets in the past.”  
“Exactly, Dean. In the past. I’m fine, and I’m hungry, so let’s just order and get out of here.”

∼

They were still on their way to their next case. Sam was dozing off in the passenger seat of the car. He was dreaming, and that was not good. His dream started off with him laying on a bed, several years younger. He felt something sticky fell onto his forehead. With his eyes remaining closed, he lifted his finger up to the substance before putting it in his mouth. That’s when his eyes shot open. Whatever was on his fingers tasted metallic and warm. Jess’s body was hanging above him once again. Her stomach was sliced open as she stared down at him. This time though, she blinked her eyes. Her mouth was moving and it didn’t sound like any noise was coming out, but Sam knew exactly what she was saying.  
“You did this, Sam.”  
“No. No, I didn’t” Sam tried to beg with the corpse above him. He tried to sit up from his lying position in bed to try and get Jess off the ceiling, but he found he couldn’t move.  
“Oh honey, you did though. Your mom told me so, too. She went through the same thing. If you hadn’t left that day you could have saved me. I could still be alive. But you chose your brother over me. I thought you loved me.”  
“I do, Jess. I still do!” Sam tried to scream it, but no matter how hard he tried his voice came out level and emotionless. Sam was crying from his position on the bed as he stared into her eyes.  
“This is your fault, Sam. It’s your fault he got me. I thought you loved me, Sam.”  
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, wanting this torture to be over. She kept saying it over and over. She thought he loved her. Over and over. He did, he always will. The voice kept taking on a more lulling, ethereal tone. It almost sounded like it was getting further away. Until suddenly it wasn’t.  
“I thought you loved me, Sam.” The voice was here. It was in that room. Sam opened his eyes and Ruby stood facing him. She was standing with one hip jutted out, and her arms laying at her sides as she just stared at him.  
“Ruby.” Sam said weakly. There was a mix of emotions forcing through him. He had loved Ruby, but she betrayed him. He felt sorrow, longing, anger, and disgust.  
“I thought you loved me, just like your other little girlfriend. You didn’t though, did you?”  
“I did, once.” Sam was able to sit up now. Ruby crossed her arms and kept walking closer to him.  
“I made some mistakes, Sam, but boy did you have your flaws too. You could’ve saved me, you know? I only made it seem like I was just trying to unlock Lucifer from the beginning, but that’s not true. I was just mad. What we had once was real. And it was good. That is, until Dean showed back up after visiting my hometown. And then you chose him over me? You kept disappearing to go off on your little adventures with him and just expected me to be there to wait on you? In the end, all you were contacting me for is to use me. Use me for my blood, isn’t that right, Sammy? To get stronger at your little exorcism game? The game I taught you?”  
“No, I, no.” Sam was stumbling over his words.  
“Oh man, well it hurt. I should have never gotten so attached to you. You kept ditching on me, and then calling me up and only being obsessed with one thing, and I was so fed up with it! The most disgusting part is, it took me so long to figure out because I kept making excuses for you in my own mind. Because I was in love with you. Once I saw what you were doing though? Oh, I didn’t make excuses anymore. I was so mad. I wanted to unleash hell on the world and all the humans on it. So I thought, hm. Why not. That’s when I decided to help unleash the devil. It’s your fault Lucifer is out of the cage, Sam. In this way, and in many others. I hope you remember that.”  
Ruby was directly in his face now as she said the last sentence.  
“Ruby, I’m sorry, but I--”  
Ruby cut him off as she started to speak again. Something weird was happening to her. Her unique, beautiful face was beginning to fall apart right before his eyes. “And then you let Dean kill me.” The anger had gone from her voice, it was just full of sadness now. “You let Dean kill me right in your arms. You always choose your brother over everyone. Why, Sam? Why? He doesn’t even trust you to get up to use the bathroom? He doesn’t believe you at all. But you still choose him over everyone, including yourself. It’ll be your downfall. Just. Be careful.” Ruby caressed Sam’s cheek, and he lay his head into her hand, closing his eyes. When he opened them, Jess was before him again, stroking his cheek with her thumb.  
“Just be careful, Sam.” Her voice was angelic. “Be careful with Dean, and don’t let him make choices for you. You know what you need to do. I miss you. I can’t wait to see you again.”  
“I miss you, too, Jess.” his voice had cracked.  
Flame over took the heavenly presence in front of him, and suddenly everything was dark.  
“Sam. Sam. Sammy.” It was the voice of Lucifer. He was getting closer.  
Sam woke with a gasp in the passenger seat of Baby. Dean had been shaking him. Dean had been saying his name.  
“You okay?” Dean asked in that deep voice of his.  
“Yeah,” Sam said as he looked out the window. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

∼

That night, Sam took a shower and left Dean in the room alone. Dean knew something funky was happening with his brother again, if it had ever even stopped. Sneaking out last night, mortified to see his own reflection, and then today in the car?  
Dean had been driving when Sam started moaning. He looked over and could see the sweat glistening off his brother’s forehead. Sam kept talking in his sleep, but Dean couldn’t decipher what he was saying. He was obviously having a nightmare. He had let it go for a while, not wanting to wake Sam up, but eventually he couldn’t deal with it anymore. He woke his brother up, and his brother withdrew into his shell, not telling Dean anything.  
Well, if that’s how he wanted it to be then fine. Dean could just figure out what was wrong with him the good old fashioned way: with a little bit of snooping. He was thinking maybe Sam had looked stuff up on his laptop. He wasn’t as good with computers, but he was sure he could manage to find out how to look at Sam’s history to possibly see what he was thinking about in his spare time.  
Dean grabbed Sam’s dull duffel bag from the foot of the bed and unzipped it. He was consciously paying attention to see if he still heard running water all the while. He pushed around a bit of clothes, mostly flannels and jeans. The laptop was at the bottom of the bag; Dean felt it’s cold, smooth surface. When he went to pull it out, he heard the crinkling of a plastic bag. He took the duffle bag and went over to the desk provided by the hotel, turning on the lamp light there. He pulled out the shopping bag in wonder, peering inside. In the bag he found three pill bottles.  
What the hell? Dean thought. He examined the bottles under the light, finding that they were all the same.  
Diphenhydramine. Dean read, what the hell is diphenhydramine.  
Dean got out his cell phone and called up Bobby, wondering if he would know anything. He read the name off as best he could on the phone.  
“Diphenhydramine? Sounds like sleeping pills to me, Dean.”  
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought.”  
“Is Sam doing okay?”  
Dean was quiet, unsure how to answer the question. Just then he heard the knobs of the shower turn and the distinct sound of the water stopping its flow through the pipes.  
“Yeah, he’s fine. Who knows with these pills now, but hey, Bobby. I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”  
“Okay, Dean. Keep an eye on him for me.”  
“Will do.” Dean hung up the phone and zipped up the duffle bag, but not before slipping one of the sleeping pill bottles into his back pocket. He threw the duffle bag back on the bed right before Sam came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and his hair still dripping.  
“What?” Sam inquired.  
“What?” Dean mirrored.  
“Who were . . . were you talking to somebody?” Sam cocked his head to the side.  
Dean raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “No, no I was just chilling in here.”  
Sam grabbed his duffel bag from the bottom of his bed. Dean held his breath while his brother riffled through it, eventually pulling out the clothes he was going to wear. He watched his brother. The two had never really saw eye to eye, but things used to be different. He longed for that easiness they used to have with each other. Dean, with a sudden sense of impending doom, felt they wouldn’t be able to act with such ease around each other ever again. Even if they tried. Sam walked back towards the bathroom, and turned to throw a final curious look at Dean.  
“Bitch.” Dean said.  
Sam smiled slightly, but in the upward curves of his lips there was only sadness.  
“Jerk.” He said back. With that he walked in and shut the door. Dean sat down on a chair and put his head in his hands. What was he going to do?

∼

In a pub somewhere in the middle of a busy town, Sam and Dean sat across from each other at a table at a bar. Both sat with their beers, not talking much. All days weren’t all bad, but overall things had been uneasy between them since Sam’s incident. Sam couldn’t say he blamed his brother. They hadn’t tried to talk about it since that first night, but wouldn’t it be useless anyway? Dean would never see Sam’s point. He would only see disappointment. The tension, the waiting for the blowout, was not making things much better for Sam. Nightmares had started again, and so had the ideation. He couldn’t let Dean know that though. He’d have to be more careful the next time, but it seemed like Dean would never let him be alone.  
“So.” Dean started the conversation.  
“So.” Sam replied. Dean threw a pill bottle on the table.  
“So I found that. And two others like it. In your bag.” Sam didn’t respond right away, letting the pill bottle sit between them like a widening canyon. He wanted to respond with the truth. He wanted to tell his brother that the thoughts hadn’t gone away. Anxiety blocked the words from coming out. He felt his emotions thrashing about inside of him, and instead of trying to figure out what emotions they were, he responded in anger. Accusation.  
“Oh so it’s not enough to have me on constant watch, now you have to go through my stuff?”  
“Maybe if you didn’t go all Girl Interrupted on me I wouldn’t have to.”  
“So what, you don’t trust me now?”  
“Oh, well I haven’t done that in a while, but I don’t know, why should I?”  
“You know what, Dean? This is ridiculous. I’m done with being babysat.”  
“Why do you have these pills, Sam? Where’d you even get them?”  
“I have them because I can’t exactly sleep well anymore. They help.”  
Dean nodded his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. The smile was not one born of happiness, but out of disbelief.  
“So you need three bottles worth at a time, huh?” he took a swig of his beer.  
“Just so I don’t run out when we’re too busy for me to get more.We don’t exactly have a stable place to rest every night.” Sam said. Dean slammed his beer bottle down on the table so hard that Sam flinched, surprised it didn’t break.  
“You’re lying, Sam.” The accusation made Sam do his sarcastic little laugh again.  
“Right. Or maybe that’s just you being paranoid.”  
“Paranoid?” Dean shouted. He looked around before quieting down. “Paranoid? Sam, you almost died. What would’ve happened if I didn’t find you in time?”  
“Exactly what I wanted.” Sam said the retort before he even had time to think about it.  
Dean stared at him, then shook his head laughing. He picked up his beer and chugged the rest before taking a twenty out of his wallet and throwing it down on the table. With that, he stood up to walk away.  
“Dean. Dean, wait.” Sam got up and tried to go after his brother, nodding to the waitress in thanks before running out the door.  
Outside, the cool air brushed Sam’s face gently, welcoming after the stuffy bar atmosphere. Dean was almost to his Impala. Sam ran after his older brother and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around to face him. Dean tried to turn back around, and his brother put his hand on the car door to prevent Dean from getting in.  
A pair of keys were thrown in Sam’s face. He caught them as they were falling.  
“Fine. I’ll walk.” Dean had never before willingly walked anywhere when Baby was perfectly able to drive him. This is what made Sam realize how much the new find in his own bag had affected his older brother. He tried to say something to prevent him from walking away, but Dean didn’t need the prompt. He turned around suddenly. It shocked Sam to see the lights from the bar glisten in Dean’s eyes as they watered up.  
“You know what, Sam? We tried. We really did. We’ve separated, and we’ve come back together, and we’ve done it again and again. I know what I said before. We may be weaker together, but at least it keeps us human? But now what you’ve done? What you’re doing to me when you know you’re all I’ve got left? After you saw my reaction to Bobby saying he wanted to put a gun in his mouth? I just can’t believe it. What’s the sense of trying to be more human together if you don’t want to live in the first place.”  
Dean started to walk away, going to cross the street. Sam started after him, taking a couple steps. He knew there would be no use and he should just let Dean go, but he couldn’t stop from calling out to him.  
“Dean. Dean!” Sam watched desperately as his brother walked away from him. It was a familiar sight. “Dean!” he tried to continue.  
Dean whipped around and started to walk back towards Sam, arguing.  
“What? What do you want.”  
“I’m sorry.” Sam said, knowing he was too quiet.  
“Whatever Sam, I--” Dean was cut off as a car horn blared suddenly. Not enough time passed between the car horn and the car’s arrival. Sam watched as his brother was struck down right in front of his eyes.  
Oh my god Sam thought as he stumbled towards the road. His stumble turned slowly into a gaited run as he ran to the scene. The car that had hit Dean stopped a few feet down the road. He barely felt like a real person as he ran up to his brother, his big bro, laying in the middle of the road.  
“Oh my god, Dean. Dean, oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Dean’s eyes were still open, his chest still rising and falling. Sam fell to his knees besides his brother, hesitant to move him. The girl who had been driving the car was now out and standing over the scene, but there was a ringing in Sam’s ears that prevented him from hearing whatever she was saying. A pool of blood was spreading out from beneath Dean’s body. Sam wasn’t sure of the source, but his vision was too blurry to think about finding it.  
“It’s okay, Sam. I’m okay.” It was painfully obvious that Dean was just trying to talk through whatever pain he was feeling. Falling backwards off his knees, Sam ended up in a cross legged position. The road was rough beneath him. It still held that warmth that asphalt held even though the sun hadn’t been up for hours. This warm, coarse surface under his legs was the only thing grounding him to reality. More cars were stopping around the scene now, but none of it mattered. From his cross legged position, he lifted up Dean’s head so Dean was cradled in his lap. He knew he shouldn’t move his brother, but he sensed he wouldn’t be able to hold him for very much longer. He began rocking back and forth, dry sobbing.  
“I’m sorry.”  
“No,” Sam started. “No, don’t be sorry.”  
“I am.”  
∼

The night had been cool, refreshing at first when compared to the warm air they had had inside. Now it was almost too cool. That must be why it shocked Dean so much when his chilled forehead was greeted by warm, salty tears. The tears fell from his brother’s eyes looking down on him. Dean looked at him, seeing him upside down. He reached up towards his own neck desperately, feeling for the amulet. Castiel had recently given it back to him, and he was so grateful. He grabbed onto it as he grabbed onto life. His mind flashed back to a younger Sam. A beautiful, naive little brother, who gave him the amulet in place of his dad. Sam had always been so caring. So sensitive. His little brother.  
“You deserved better than me. We both know it. I dragged you back into this whole mess.” The words came out staccatoed as the pain Dean felt interrupted him multiple times over. He felt colder by the second, and more tired.  
“Dean. Don’t say that, don’t say I deserved better.”  
“You did though. You do, Sammy.”  
He hated seeing his brother this visibly upset, and he knew his brother probably wanted to lessen the pain for himself. He knew what was coming next; he closed his eyes when he heard it. A broken voice spoke the words as Dean drifted away.  
“Don’t call me Sammy.”


End file.
